you're always worth it and you deserve it
by charbrose
Summary: he was going to prove to her just how beautiful he thought she was {established dean/charlotte, rated m for a reason}


_a/n: [sighs] okay so a couple nights on twitter my tl was flooded with support for charlotte when once again some idiot jerk started with that she looks like a man bull shit. so naturally i was pissed, and not just because she is one of my faves, but because it's ridiculous. it's okay if you don't think she's beautiful but if you saw her bikini shoots, she definitely doesn't look like a man or if you saw her at battleground either. there's experimental sex happening, but it's not totally porn without a plot. hopefully it doesn't suck. don't just favorite, please review if you favorite._

* * *

 **~*~you're always worth it and you deserve it~*~**

 **pairing: dean ambrose/charlotte**

 **summary: he was going to prove to her just how beautiful he thought she was {established dean/charlotte, rated m for a reason}**

 **rating: m**

* * *

" _ **this is mine! this is mine! you don't deserve this!"**_ Her own words, fiercely declared, running through her head as she's slumped in her locker room, fighting the urge to cry. **"** _ **you will never beat me, ever,**_ **"** Her own voice thrumming in her ears and a lone tear escapes, sliding down the slope of her cheek and then it's a primal scream escaping from the depths of her soul, echoing all around, bouncing back; features contorting in pure agony.

Breathing heavily, chest heaving and strands of hair between her fingers, the statuesque blonde rises to her feet. There's her father's voice, raspy and warm, entering her mind, "You're a Flair," and stumbling toward the vanity inside her locker room she stares at her reflection. Her once perfect curls are in tangles, slowly drying from being drenched with sweat. Her warm, determined eyes have faded to a muddy brown, circles underneath from the battle fought. There are scratches on her arms, a few bruises marring her tan skin.

"Fuck this," A disgusted growl through gritted teeth and she turns away.

That woman in the mirror isn't who she is. She's not a disgraced former Champion. She's not platinum locks turned to strands of sweat drenched wheat. She's not faded muddy brown eyes. She's not marred with scratches and bruises.

She _is_ Charlotte Flair.

A warrior. A queen. An NXT Women's Champion. The former WWE Women's Champion. She brought an entire division to its knees causing them to retire a title and the moniker of 'Diva' along with it. And she is damn sure not going to let the world see her as anything less than.

Grabbing her phone, she sends out a quick tweet... **MsCharlotteWWE she was the better WOMAN tonight. Enjoy the throne SashaBanksWWE, there's still only one queen, dear. I'm coming back, be at your best.**

And then she makes her way to the shower.

* * *

"Charlotte..." There's Dana, standing in the doorway and Charlotte turns, stopping from undoing her hair from its towel. "If you're here to apologize, don't. I don't want or need your apologies. Sasha was the better woman tonight. She did what she had to do. I'll never say it to her face, obviously, but it was a good move..." A slow smile spreading across her lips. "Pretending you hit her with the title. She stole, pun intended, a page right out of her hero's book. She can enjoy her triumph while it lasts. This isn't over."

"Good, good. Next week you should..." Dana starts but Charlotte cuts her off with a sharp shake of her head. " _Dana_..." A heavy sigh, lips turning soft. "There isn't any reason you and I need to talk strategy after tonight. There's not going to be a big scene next week where I tell you you're a horrible protege and how could you not know Sasha wouldn't try something so obvious. We're going to do what we both have to do, right now, which is go our separate ways."

"What..." The white-haired blonde's berry lips fall open in shock.

"Close your mouth, honey. You don't want to catch flies." Flippant as she unwinds her hair from the towel. "What have I always told you, Dana? To be 'The Woman' you have to beat 'The Woman,' and right now 'The Woman' in the equation is Sasha. I have to be more focused than I've ever been, and that starts tonight. I don't have time to hold your hand. Emma has all the time in the world since she's still recovering from her surgery why don't you go run along and give her a call?"

"Char..." Tears are glistening in the smaller woman's toffee eyes. "Don't make this any harder on yourself. I'll call security if I have to. I mean, _really_ , sweetie you had to know after I banished my own father from my life in front of over 1500 people, that this wouldn't last forever. I did that to my own flesh and blood and who are you?"

A choked sob, a shaky nod and then she's gone, door slamming behind her.

For a brief moment there was a flash of pain, a sting at her heart but as quickly as the feelings appeared, they were gone. Charlotte didn't have time for Dana any more. She had served her purpose well and now it was time to move on. Now was the time to reclaim her crown, not be a rookie's den mother. With a blow dryer and curling iron plugged in, her makeup palette laid out, jewels for her eye gleaming in their case and her gear hanging proudly on its hanger, she would start on her journey to get her title back tonight, and that meant looking the part.

With her phone in her hand, she took a selfie, soft smile gracing her painted lips and then came the caption to go along with it. **MsCharlotteWWE Fall down. Stand up. Straighten your CROWN. Carry on.**

* * *

Changing out of her gear, she made her way to the curtain so she could peek at the dark match that was currently going on.

Her heart raced – something that was slowly becoming less annoying – when she heard the familiar sound of a motorcycle revving. There he was – WWE Heavyweight Champion – familiar silhouette strutting down the ramp, title proudly resting on his broad shoulder. That signature black tank top stretched tight over his beautifully toned back and his wonderfully shaped arms proudly on display. Her tongue slipped from her lips, eyes drifting to his ass, shape perfectly outlined by the denim fabric of his jeans.

He held the heavy black belt up high, spitting venom at Rollins, wasting no time and getting right in his former brother's face. She knew she shouldn't laugh, that she should keep a stony facade, giving no hints that she _wasn't_ supporting her brand's number one pick. But... it's not like anyone would believe she – wrestling royalty, the second generation princess, daughter of the dirtiest player in the game – would pay any attention to Dean Ambrose, gutter rat. If anything, they would believe she would think of him as nothing but dirt underneath her boots.

And she was happy to let anyone think so. What went on in her bedroom was her business and hers alone.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and her heart was racing once again as a lustful shudder raced up her spine. Her thumb swiped her lock screen, expecting a dirty message to pop up. He was always one for teasing, taunting... Driving her crazy with want. _Delayed gratification, Princess_ , he would rasp, gritty tone filled with sin. _I'm makin' this worth your while and mine. Seein' you all worked up... That look in your eyes, bringin' you to the edge and pullin' back how it makes you so pissed, how you'll claw and scratch... And it's me, fuckin' gutter rat Ambrose that's doin' it to you, Princess. Don't forget that._

She hated how he called himself that, not that she ever said, but she did. He wasn't a gutter rat. He wasn't dirt underneath her Loubitouns. He wasn't someone she would scoff at and mock. He deserved his position in this company as much as she did. But she was careful not to let that show... The Authority may have been disbanded after Hunter's loss at Mania, but Stephanie – no doubt – still had eyes and ears everywhere, and the Billionaire Princess would not take kindly to the face of her Women's Division thinking anything positive about her nemesis, Ambrose.

Glancing down at her phone, Charlotte felt her heart sink every so slightly. There were no messages from Dean. Only a dozen or so notifications from her twitter account. Lazily, she thumbed through her mentions. Her lips quirked at the support from her fans, lifting her heart, briefly. And then her eyes caught other comments... **an actual woman holding the women's championship, how revolutionary. thank god charlotte doesn't have her man hands on the women's title any more. wwe got a lot smarter, making sasha champion because it's the wwe women's title, not the wwe man's title** _._

More and more of the same flooded her mentions and her knees buckled underneath her. She remembered going on Unfiltered with Renee and saying the craziest rumor that was spread about her was that she was actually a man. She talked about how she had personal shoppers to find her clothes because her frame – broad shoulders, narrow waist – was so uncommon for a woman. She felt bile coat her tongue and burn her throat as her stomach tumbled dangerously.

There was a cacophony of noise in her ears, drowning out - "YOUR WINNERS THE TEAM OF WWE WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION, DEAN AMBROSE AND JOHN CENA!" - and while there was never a more attractive sight than a sweaty Ambrose, she ran from her hiding spot.

How she was moving, she didn't know, her legs felt as heavy as lead but she knew she couldn't stay. She couldn't give him a flirtatious wink and a saucy murmur of, 'meet me in my room.' Why would he even want her to? How could he? After Renee who was so soft and small and feminine, barely reaching his pecs, why would he want someone who could overpower him? Lift as much as he could in the gym? And who was only getting thicker by the day?

Everything hit her full force in the rental, and she couldn't stop the flood of tears even if she wanted to.

* * *

"Go away!" Once in her hotel room, there were three soft knocks, alerting her of who was on the other side of the door. Her voice was raw and scratchy from crying in the rental, and he could probably tell, which is why the next three knocks were louder.

"I SAID GO AWAY!" A desperate bellow because she would _not_ allow him to see her like this, crying over some stupid people hiding behind their keyboards who wouldn't have the guts to say any of that to her face.

"You'll have to get out here and make me, Princess. Don't think I won't cause a major scene, either. What's Steffy gonna do, can my ass? I don't think so. She don't own it. We both know who does... I think the whole floor should know. MY NAME IS DEAN AMBROSE AND CHARLOTTE..." Leaping from the bed, Charlotte flung the door open and grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him inside.

"ARE YOU FUCKING INSANE?!"

"Jury's still out," A shrug of broad shoulders, tone flippant. "You wanna tell me," Eyes narrowing as he takes in the sight of her in one of the hotel's complimentary white terry cloth robes. "Why you were so adverse to being in my company tonight? Or more accurately why you weren't," Arm reaching out and crushing her against him. "Face down and ass up like we agreed you would be after Battleground?"

Lust hit Charlotte full force... Remembering being on her knees, having his dick in her mouth in his locker room and agreeing to anything just because she wanted him to cum and to swallow everything he had to offer because he tasted so good and it had been so long. And as quickly as the lust hit her, it was gone. Drowned out and overwhelmed by her feelings from earlier. Everything coming back, full force, and she shoved him away.

"Get your disgusting gutter paws off me." Trying to sound as harsh as possible, but she knew he could see through her facade. Her voice was weak, soft; no trace of malice. And it's not as if he didn't know the truth, that she wanted his hands all over her. Not to mention his lips, his teeth, his tongue.

"You wanna tell me just what the fuck is going on, Charlotte?" Too soft, too warm... Too _everything_ he shouldn't be. She didn't want that... Him to act like he cared, like they weren't just fucking, like he could want her as more. Because how could he? She wasn't wifey material. She could barely boil water. She wasn't a tiny, dainty little thing who needed to be wrapped up in those big arms of his who could curl around him and be small and cute. She was too tall, too broad, too.. And a hiccup that she didn't want to escape, escaped and she had to turn away.

He couldn't see her like this. Completely deflated by people she would never meet. "Just go," A defeated sigh and a sad shake of her head. "I'm not in the mood."

That low, raspy chuckle. "I know _that's_ a fuckin' lie." His gritty tone right in her ear. "You're _always_ rarin' to go." His hand sliding down the length of her side and then cupping her right cheek and squeezing. "Fuck..." A heady hiss. "This ass... Didn't think it was possible for it to get better, but fuck... Those damn little shorts you wear barely cover it now. You better not be doin' it on purpose. You know," Dark and lustful. "What'll happen if you are."

Heat floods her body, turning her blood to molten lava rushing through her veins.

"Tell me, Charlotte," Her name spilling from his lips, nothing but a growl and she can't stop the moan falling from her lips. "What's goin' on in that pretty little head of yours?"

 _Little... Little..._ _ **Little**_ the world spirals around in her head, bouncing from side to side and it makes the dam burst. Everything she's been holding it, spills forward.

"There's _nothing_ little about me," Barely a whisper. "Look at me, Dean..." Never Dean _always_ Ambrose, but she can't stop his first name from leaving her lips. "What _is_ little about me? What is..." She unties the rope, leaving herself bare. "Why would you want me? My shoulders are almost as wide as yours. You can't fit your hands around my waist and it's only getting thicker. Just like my thighs. My arms are too big. My boobs aren't big enough..."

The rambling is cut off by his lips crashing against her own. She doesn't want to given, but his mouth... Fuck, it's just too good. Too perfect. It's like his lips were made for hers. Too romantic of a notion to believe because this wasn't anything real or beyond the barriers of pleasure that went into something magical where they would hold hands and whisper sweet nothings in each other's ears, but she couldn't deny that's how it felt. No other's lips could move like his, illicit the responses his could, have her knees quaking and her pussy already soaked.

Only the burning sensation of air-starved lungs as him pulling back. She tries to reach for him, but he pushes her hands away. "What the fuck are you even talking about? Since when do I give a shit about your damn shoulders? They ain't close to what I want..." A heady growl and there's his hand palming her right cheek and squeezing, his fingers digging in, making her moan as she throws her head back.

"This..." A quick slap and _oooooooh_ a breathless hiss falling form her lips. "Is what I'm interested in. This ass... You want to talk about thick? This, right here, is thick. Just like those thighs of yours; smooth and luscious, squeezing tight around my head so you keep me just where you want me while I'm getting what I want, that fucking delicious pussy."

"Fuck..." Charlotte can feel said body part throb, every one of his words every syllable uttered in that raspy growl going straight to her core, which is getting wetter by the second. She'll be sopping when he finally decides to shut the fuck up.

"You're tits aren't big enough? What dumbass told you that? Probably some poor schmuck who hasn't gotten the privilege of seeing them. But I've seen them, felt them, had them in my mouth..." Her thighs rub together, her pussy is desperate for his mouth, for his dick and she needs friction; anything to stop the dull ache she feels. "Your tits are perfect. Just like the rest of you. Now, how bout you get rid of this stupid ass robe and let's get this show on the road, huh? You're so desperate right now. I can see those thighs rubbing together. I know what you want, Charlotte. Let me give it to you."

It's like she's under water. Her vision is blurred; the headiness of his words only making her wetter, but her head is swimming... She's still fighting a battle with the words that won't leave her alone. She knows they agreed to face down and ass up, but she can't. She can't let him have what he wants. She still doesn't want him to... And there's the sound of his zipper and fuck... He looks too good for her own good.

All of that tan skin on display... His proportions are almost unreal... His shoulders twice the size of a waist she knows the girls in the locker room would murder their own mother's for. The muscles of his chest... So clearly defined by their square lines, how they taper down into those abs... Taut and lean, sliding into tantalizing hip dents and slashing obliques, highlighting his perfect dick which is straining against the cotton of his boxer briefs.

"What if..." Low and warm, her lips hovering just over his. "I give you something you always want. I don't get on my knees for anyone, Ambrose." A saucy reminder and a wink. "You should consider yourself privileged."

She moves... Bending her head to seal her lips against his collarbone, tongue peeking out to taste his skin. Her hands want to feel... That smoothness stretched over taut, bulky muscle. And just as they reach, they're gripped tight and then she yelps, his other hand slid into her hair and pulled jerking her head upwards so they're face to face.

He shakes his head and there's a shiver rolling through her body. His eyes aren't an ocean blue drowning in lust that's so familiar. They're grey and swirling, like the eye of a hurricane, and they're piercing... Making it impossible for her to move. Her essence starts to leak... She can feel it sliding down the inside of her thigh, and he releases his grip on her wrist but not her hair.

Wagging a finger, he taunts, "Keep those hands to yourself."

Being manhandled like this... Her temper, no pun intended, flares. Obviously, he's forgotten who he's dealing with, who he is in the presence of. Being with her is a privilege, not a right. And she'll throw him out of this room right now.

"Keep my hands to myself?" Nothing less than an indignant scoff. "Did you forget _who_ you're talking to? Who _is_ willing to get on their knees for you? I'm not some desperate fangirl whore who swoons at your feet, Ambrose. I'm..."

"I know _exactly_ who you are, Princess." A low chuckle and another jerk of her hair. "Now, if you don't want to keep your hands to yourself, that's on you but you're gonna face the consequences. So go ahead... Put on your crown and call me peasant. Don't forget..." She swears, she's going to rear back and wipe that smirk right off his face, perfect dimple be damned. "Who makes you so willing to get on your knees. So are you gonna play nice and keep your hands to yourself?"

"You don't _make_ me do anything," A growl of her own, because who the fuck does he think he is? She is royalty, and he needs to remember just how lucky he is, she gives him the time of day. "You think just because I give you the privilege of touching me, that it means I'm willing to get on my knees for you? Please, what you give me I can get anywhere. You can't find _me_ on any street corner..."

"You're playing with fire, Princess. And you're lyin' through that pretty mouth of yours. You know nobody else can do what I do for you. No one's ever made you as wet, as desperate, turned on. Who you tryin' to fool? So you know what? Screw it... No games; get on the bed right now, put your arms above your head and remember, when you can touch me and I'm not between your legs, I'm everywhere but where you need me most, you did this to yourself."

* * *

His belt in his in his hands and Charlotte arches a brow... She tells herself as she lays on the bed, she only complied because the dull ache is now a raging pain and not because she needs him, specifically. If she had her vibrator, she would have thrown him out. _Uh-uh, sure you woul_ d an unconvinced voice murmurs in her ear, and then another voice comes through this one sour and harsh... **look at you, still in your robe... you can't even be naked in front of him. pathetic... but do you really think that belt is going to hold you down? be able to wrap around your man hands and not snap automatically?**

Her throat bobs and there's a hiccup trying to escape and she wants to look away, but then Dean is right there... She can feel the heat of his body and the cinnamon of his breath ghosting over her ear.

"You're gonna look so fuckin' good... Those perfect titties sticking out, nipples as hard as fucking diamonds, straining for my mouth and my hands... Thighs spread wide so I can see that pussy; sopping without me having touched it. All this hair," His fingers tangle in her strands. "Spilling everywhere. Your eyes so dark they're black. These lips... Plump and bruised from my mouth. Fuck, Charlotte..." A heady groan, his nose nuzzling the slope of her neck. "Tell me if your wrists hurt. You're a naughty little thing, not listening but I don't wanna hurt you."

"Ambr... Dean..." A whimper because he can't be serious. "Look, I'll keep my hands to myself. I swear..." Their hottest kiss yet stops her. Teeth clash with clash, tongues tangle desperately and she melts against him, going boneless and acquiescing in silence. "Gonna show you," Warm and a glow spreads throughout her body. "Just how fuckin' good you look. How much I want all of you. Now, fuckin' shut up, Peasant."

* * *

Charlotte doesn't want to think about what she looks like... Her body is taut, offered up to him like she's some kind of sacrifice. She doesn't want to think about how her waist isn't as trim, how her thighs are thicker as well, how he can tell her proportions are off... Shoulders broader, breasts small and the muscles of her arms... She swallows thickly, this almost too much but then he's licking his lips and his eyes are the deep lustful blue she's seen before. Her heart thrums in her chest and she bites her lip, twisting the flesh because **for fuck's sake Ambrose do something, anything**.

And then he's touching her. It's almost as if the rough pads of his fingertips – calloused from hard fought battles in and out of the ring – have turned to feathers. They're reverent and slow, making her shudder and whine as they ghost over her nipples and around the swells of her breasts.

Next, they slide over her stomach and she twists against the restrains not wanting him to spend time there... Where it's soft and bunches, but he does and then he goes down between her legs. She knows he can smell her... She can smell her own arousal because she's sopping wet, but he doesn't bend he instead traces the joint between her torso and thigh and then back up over her hips, which are too wide, but he doesn't seem to think so. He comes back to her breasts and he pinches her nipples between his thumb and finger. A growled curse is wrenched from her throat, her body arching at his touch, her arms flexing at the restraints and she doesn't care about how they flex as her heels slide against the bed trying to find grip.

There's his mouth on her breast, taking in the taut tip... His tongue sliding around it before he catches it with his teeth, tugging... Bordering on pain, but so good. She yelps and then moans the sounds repeating as he moves to her other breasts and does the same. He drops his hands to her hips, gripping them firmly and there's an appreciative groan falling from his lips as he trails his tongue down her stomach, clearly unable to resist what he knows he'll find down below.

" _Dean_..." A hungry plea... Her eyes blurred by lust, her head thrashing... Desperate for anything; his lips, teeth, tongue... Just needing him _there_ so this raging ache could go away and she could breathe.

"Patience is a virtue, Peasant," Teasing as he licks the joint between her torso and thigh. "Didn't Mummy and Daddy teach you that? Or was it one of your fancy boarding school teachers who forgot?"

" _Fuck you, asshole,_ " Growled through gritted teeth, body arching as she thrashes. "Please..." She hates sounding so desperate because she knows he's loving it, but fuck... Can he really blame her? "You do things that make me willing to get on my knees for you, so why don't you fucking do something? Dean..."

She feels his lips smirk against the juncture of her thighs, his nose teasing the soaked strip of hair and then there's an open-mouthed kiss up one inner thigh and then back down before sinking his teeth into the flesh just next to her wet opening. Her body jerks, thrusting herself toward him again as she shouts loudly.

"Dean!"

There's his tongue, expertly sliding over her glistening pussy, and the groan he lets out goes straight to her core, making her wetter, if it's even possible for her to be. She thinks she mumbled something, she doesn't know, all she knows is the press of his tongue, which is flat against her and her lips parting as she lets it slide in. He shifts one arm so it's across her waist, freeing the other so he replaces his tongue with his fingers, pushing two inside and immediately her inner walls grip them hard.

Her eyes open... Seeing him watching her and everything is that more intense. The way he's looking at her, she wants to turn away... He can't be looking at her like _that_ , like she's beautiful and there's... She doesn't even want to try and think what else is swirling in those oceanic depths because it can't be. How can it when he's what every fangirl wants and dreams of? And she's the opposite? Rumors being spread about her being a man... A dip in her confidence makes her turn her head, but his hand that was across her waist, is turning her head so they're face to face again.

"Uh-uh... None of that. I want those baby browns on me, Peasant..." It's teasing and warm, and too much and everything all at the same time. "Keep them eyes right here. Don't deny me these perfect legs spread as far as they can go by having me tie them up too."

"Just... Fuck..." She can barely breathe, how can he expect her to communicate. "Dean..." Everything she wants in those four letters, spilling from her lips like a desperate prayer, a benediction needing to be answered and he gives a soft smile, melting her. "I got you, Princess. You know I know just what to do. Fuck..." A growl and then his mouth is right there, capturing her clit between his lips and pulling gently.

Her mouth parts, low rumbling moaning, escaping as he tugs a little firmer and then lets go. He circles it with the tip of his tongue, grip on her waist tightening as she bucks her hips. He curls his fingers inside of her, brushing against her g-spot as he attacks her clit again with his teeth, gently grazing them over sensitive skin.

"Fuck, Dean... I'm gonna..."

This time Dean lets Charlotte push herself into his mouth and onto his fingers. Her ass lifts from the bed as he feels her juices slide over his fingers. Her body spasms, held for a second in mid-air as she gasps for air. He keeps going, his fingers purposefully lazy and slow. His tongue is soft on her clit as she comes down from her high.

Pulling away... She moans, eyes peering from behind thick lashes, at his tongue licking his glistening lips. He reaches over... Undoing the knots and her arms go slack immediately. Her thumbs slide over her wrists, drawing circles, bringing life back into the limp appendages.

That can't be it... She's coming out of her daze, realizing he's still hard as fuck... And no... "Relax, Peasant," An easy chuckle against the hollow of her throat. "Ol' Deano can take care of business. That was a lot.. Part of me can't believe you let me. I figured I'd have to make you tap before you would. Don't think I'm letting all that shit before all this go. Somethin' was off tonight, and I'm gonna figure it out."

Her brain catches up, no longer buzzing and under a thick fog of lust. "Don't."

"What's that? An order? I don't take orders from peasants, Peasant. So try again. Cause you sure as hell ain't Daniel Bryan or Shane McMahon. I wouldn't want either of them naked and tied up."

A kiss dropped to her forehead and then the shower turns on, and what the fuck? When he comes back, she expects him to start getting dressed and leaving, like always, but he doesn't. He lets the towel slip from his waist and then climbs into bed. There are kisses against the hollow of her throat and then he rolls her over and kisses go from the back of her neck down every vertebrae of her spine.

There's an open-mouthed kiss to the right cheek of her ass and she moans.

Then there's more... Going from cheek to cheek and then a few quick slaps as well.

His mouth moves back up, kissing every vertebrae again and then there's the cinnamon of his breath ghosting over her ear. "Tomorrow you're gonna be face down and ass up. Tonight," He husks out, teeth nipping at her weak spot. "I just wanna be buried in your tight pussy and have you milk me for everything. Now, roll over or I'll spend the rest of the night making your fucking gorgeous ass nice and red and get my hand prints all over it so everybody knows who you got in your bed."

It's _everything_... Dean filling her up like only he can. And as her second high rolls through her, sweet and slow, there aren't any thoughts clouding her brain. No sour voices whispering... Only this... His thick dick pounding in and out, her walls clenching around him and the tingling need his words bring as she cums with a heady moan of his name, "Dean," spilling off her lips.

* * *

He _never_ stays... But when she wakes up, he's there. There's the cinnamon of his breath, the warmth of his body... She's wrapped up in everything he is. Her heart betrays her, swelling in her chest, and she tries to fight the smile but... God, he looks about twenty years younger. His mouth is hanging open, little snores escaping and his curls are falling over his forehead, and she imagines this was the shaggy haired little boy who fell in love with Dusty and her Dad, finding relief in wrestling because his life was less than ideal.

She can't feel this way, she can't be... He would never... And the voices are back and then he's stirring and eyelashes flutter revealing baby blues. "Thought Princesses had manners and shit. Didn't they teach you it's impolite to stare at etiquette school?"

A roll of her eyes. "I didn't go to etiquette school. And I thought I was a peasant? That's what you kept calling me last night."

"That was last night... You needed to learn your place, to be reminded of just what kind of power I have when you're naked and tied up. Today's a new day... Besides," That dimple is devastating, her pussy throbs and heat rushes straight to her core. "You'll always be Princess. These golden locks, baby browns... upturned nose... What else would you be, Charlotte?"

A bitter tone supplies, a man, in her head and fuck are they ever going to go away? She turns away, mumbling, "morning breath," but he doesn't buy it, making her face him.

She couldn't move if she wanted to. His eyes – a shade of blue she doesn't know – keep her pinned, like he's hit the Dirty Deeds and she's powerless to even flinch. "I don't know what the fuck is goin' on in that head of yours, but whatever it is it's bull shit. So Banks took the championship from you? So-fucking-what. You're the total package... The looks, the moves, the talent, strength and power, you've improved on the mic. If you focus and get rid of that dead weight Dana Brooke, you can come back better than ever."

"Can I? That title..." One hand cups her cheek and the other's thumb presses to her lips, stopping her from talking. " **Didn't make you.** You made that title. Banks can't be the first WWE Women's Champion cause that's you. She's still chasing you. She's gotta be better than she was on Monday at Summerslam. Don't let that Boss shit get in your head. A queen beats every chess piece, and isn't that what you call yourself?"

"You don't..." Soft with downcast eyes and he tilts her chin upwards. "Nah, why would I? Callin' you Princess or Baby Flair or Peasant gets under your skin. I like that. You get all feisty. It's hot."

"Really, Dean? What are you? Twelve? What next? You're gonna pull my hair and shove me into some dirt and run away to play kick ball with Reigns? We're not on a playground, dumb ass."

"You _love_ it...Princess. So what's goin' on?"

Charlotte wonders if she should tell him the truth, but they're not... They're just fuck buddies. He doesn't want to hear this and she _definitely_ doesn't want him to know. But his eyes... They're warm like the clear waters of Hawaii and she thinks back to the bikini shoot. She didn't like that part of WWE, where she was required to do photo shoots and model... She wasn't a model, she was an athlete, a fighter, a wrestler but it was in her contract, so... And she remembers being on the sand in that bikini and how his raspy voice had been in her ear.

How she imagined what he thought of the blue against her skin from the top and the magenta of the bottoms. If he would have liked the heart shaped sunglasses they gave her.

If he would think this whole thing was as stupid as she did.

"No one else seems to think I'm as beautiful as you," Barely a murmur passing from her lips, so low she doubts he heard her. "Everyone seems to think I'm... They..." Her bottom lip trembles and she feels like she's twelve and she's being made fun of because she towers over all the boys in her grade.

" _Charlotte_..." It's reverent and too warm and soft, nothing it's supposed to be, his gravel tone. "I posted a picture on instagram and twitter after Sasha won. I got dressed in my gear, did my makeup... I even put the jewels around my eye and there were nice things and then... The usual stuff that I always see when I post something. It shouldn't get to me, I shouldn't care but..."

"I'll fuck up every last one of them..." A deadly growl like when he told Seth that him or Roman or even God himself couldn't pry the title out of his cold dead hands before Battleground, and she's laughing. "You don't even know who they are. I don't even know who they are."

"Don't care... Shane's got deep pockets, I bet I could get him to hire some private eyes and shit and boom, I'm in business fucking those losers up."

"Shut up. I don't need you to fuck anyone up for me..." She doesn't know where it comes from but she's lifting her right arm and she's flexing. "I mean..." There's this burst of confidence, she doesn't know how but there's a smile on her lips and she's gazing approvingly at her arm. " _Hello_... Look at that, does that look like someone who needs you to fuck people up for her, Ambrose?"

He laughs, reaching and squeezing her bicep and she swats at him with her other arm. "I can't return the favor? You're always squeezing mine."

He pouts and she laughs again, feeling light and free and not weighed down and how could he do this? This guy she was only sleeping with who wasn't supposed to mean a damn thing?

"That's something girls do, guys don't do it to girls. Squeeze my ass if you want to squeeze something."

"You don't have to tell me twice, Princess. Now... remember," His voice drops an octave, heat rushes through her blood. "It's face down and ass up for you tonight. I'll be showin' out just for you, so you get that pussy nice and wet, so my dick can slide right between those luscious cheeks."

"Dean..." Pure want coating each letter. "Be right here... Gorgeous legs spread as far as they can go and you better make sure this ass," Four hard slaps, two for each cheek. "Is up in the air and that pussy's dripping just for me. Fuck, you'll look so good. I'll have to take a picture for the spank bank since we won't be in the same cities in just a few weeks."

"No..." Whimpering because she doesn't want to think about _that_ , how after Summerslam they'll be exclusive to their brands. No more dark matches, no more same hotels... **Not fair**. "Stephanie..." Her fist pounding into the mattress, lips pouting. "Needs to fix this. She hates Roman, he can go to Smackdown and you can come to RAW."

"What's this, Princess? So desperate for a peasant like me? What would Daddy and Mummy say?"

"Oh, fuck you, Ambrose..." And then they're kissing and she doesn't know what happened, but something's changed. More... Is in the air, it's different buzzing with a deeper feeling and that's what she wants... More, deeper and him.

And fucking Stephanie _will_ fix this because who gives a shit that Sasha is champion? She is Charlotte Elizabeth Flair, and she _always_ gets what she wants. She forced an entire division to its knees so who the fuck is Stephanie McMahon, anyway? And if Stephanie won't give her what she wants, Mick sure as hell will... Or... The wheels are turning as she looks into crystal eyes.

Her lips curve, slightly, hands running over the beautifully shaped muscles of his arms and squeezing.

"If I have to, I'll get myself traded to Smackdown. All I know is this isn't the same and I don't want things to go back when we were just..."

"Things ain't goin' back to the way they were. We'll figure somethin' out. Deano's always got a plan."

"Uh... _No_ ," She says flatly shaking her head. "Leave this up to me. I will make Stephanie and Mick's lives hell if I have to. I brought a division to its knees, forcing them to retire that stupid ugly belt and that ridiculous name... Diva.. Those two," Her lips curving into a confident smirk. "They're child's play. You just sit back and defend your title, leave this to me."

"Fuck..." He groans and tongues the moment their lips touch and when everything changed for him he doesn't know, but he knows he ain't giving her up for anything. And by the way she's kissing him back, he knows she feels the same.


End file.
